The Jim and Bones Show IV -- A Chat with Jack
by Space-Age Scribe
Summary: The body that came into the OR was a 34-year-old male with blue eyes and light brown hair, the victim of a motorcycle accident. Leonard McCoy manages to do his job - barely. Seeing that, Christine Chapel decides to make a phone call. Modern AU. Fourth in the Jim & Bones Show series.


Jim and Bones Show IV – A Chat with Jack

By Space-Age Scribe

 _Summary_ : The body that came into the OR was a 34-year-old male with blue eyes and light brown hair, the victim of a motorcycle accident. Leonard McCoy manages to do his job - barely. Seeing that, Christine Chapel decides to make a phone call. Modern AU. Fourth in the Jim & Bones Show series.

Sorry for the delay in posting. I travel a lot for work, so I don't always have much time for writing. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

 _Series summary_ : In case you don't want to read the other three stories in the series first, here goes – Jim Kirk is an up-and-coming star in the culinary world. Leonard McCoy is a doctor who is forced to appear on Jim's show to talk about nutrition. They start annoying each other on camera and off; it's the start of a beautiful friendship.

 _Disclaimer_ : In the real world none of the characters are mine (unfortunately), but I appreciate getting to play with them for a while. I'm not a real doctor, dammit (and it probably shows). Apologies for not getting the medical stuff right. This story was partly inspired by an anecdote a friend told me about when he was a medical student in the UK.

 _Warnings_ : It's not all fun and games for our characters, but there is nothing graphic. McCoy might let out a couple of swears, but I think we'd all be a bit worried if he didn't.

* * *

Leonard McCoy rubbed his hand, swearing softly to himself. Punching the wall in his office hadn't been the wisest decision he'd ever made. Nothing felt broken, but then again it wasn't like he was feeling much of anything right now.

The one thing he did feel was that he would explode at any moment. He turned his back to the offending wall and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He tried to slow his breathing, but his body seemed to be out of his control right now. His legs refused to hold him up any longer, so he slid down the wall to sit on the floor. A half-whimper/half-sob escaped involuntarily.

Leonard McCoy was so wrapped up in the tumult of his own mind that he didn't hear his office door quietly close or the woman's voice out in the hallway.

Christine Chapel had just witnessed Leonard's breakdown in his office after he had finished with surgery. Honestly, she wasn't surprised given the uncharacteristic shaking of his hands while he had worked. She knew exactly what had set him off, and there was only one way to fix it.

Staying by Leonard's office door in case there were new developments inside or nosy intruders tried to interfere from the outside, she dialed her phone.

A man's voice answered. Skipping all pleasantries, she said, "I think you'd better come to the hospital right now."

~o~O~o~

 **Four Hours Earlier**

Leonard McCoy, M.D., hadn't even made it past the nurse's station before he was flagged down and told to report to the E.R. There was an incoming patient. He grumbled silently to himself; he must have angered the lunch gods in a past life because it seemed like he was never allowed to eat. Still, he couldn't really complain. It could be worse: he could be the one coming in on the stretcher.

He was just finishing scrubbing in when an orderly came in to brief him. "The ambulance crew called it," the young man said somberly. But before Leonard could move, he added: "According to his license, he's an organ donor."

Leonard took a moment to close his eyes and sigh. He hated these surgeries. His patient would already be beyond saving. Yes, he was part of a chain of events which could save any number of lives in the next few days, but to get there meant that someone had just died in the prime of their life. If he was a betting man, he'd put a month's pay on this guy riding a motorcycle. That's where most of their organ donations came from.

Moments later the gurney was rolled in and the medical staff leapt into action.

"Thirty-four-year-old Caucasian male, no red flags in his medical record," recited one of the nurses. Then someone reached forward to pull back the sheet that covered the body.

Leonard nearly had a heart attack. The man's face was badly damaged, and his wavy, light brown hair was matted down, probably by a helmet. His eyes were still slightly open, blue irises visible.

Suddenly his heart stuttered in his chest. _Thirty-four-year-old Caucasian male_. "What's his name?" he barked.

Time seemed to stand still. His chest felt like a band was squeezing it. It was taking forever for anyone to answer him. "Well? What's his name!?"

Silence stretched on. Finally, someone at the back answered. Already, seconds later, Leonard couldn't remember the name called out. All he knew was that it was one he didn't know. He slowly let out his breath, but if anything his panic grew.

Around him the staff leaped back into action, confirming that nothing more could be done and preparing for the surgery.

"Leonard, get ahold of yourself. NOW," said a quiet voice at his side. He looked over to see his best nurse, Christine Chapel. But she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at his hands. They were shaking.

"You can freak out later, but right now you have a job to do," she continued firmly as they stood back and let the other staff work. "It's not him."

Leonard gave a small nod and stepped forward to do his damn job like the goddamn professional he was. But it wasn't hard to picture another face in front of him while he worked.

~o~O~o~

From the moment Leonard had barked out his question in a panic, Christine Chapel had known exactly what was going through his head. The man on the operating table had borne more than a passing resemblance to Jim Kirk, a man who wore many hats: chef, TV personality, best friend of one Dr. Leonard McCoy.

After the surgery, McCoy had quickly shucked his gear and stalked back to his office in his scrubs. During the surgery, it was easy for Christine to see that the man was haunted. No one else might have noticed it, but McCoy's hands had shaken ever so slightly and his breath occasionally hitched. He hadn't been able to get out of there fast enough.

Quietly Christine followed McCoy back to his office. The man was so distraught that he hadn't even noticed that his office door was still open. She had flinched when he punched the wall. She didn't like his state of mind, but she also knew him and knew that he needed some time alone, to break down without a room full of orderlies and nurses watching him.

Seeing that Leonard's hand appeared to be intact if not worse for wear, Christine gently pulled the office door shut. She scrolled through the contacts in her phone and hit 'send'. A man's voice answered.

~o~O~o~

 **Present time**

They were in the lull between Sunday lunch and dinner when Jim Kirk's phone rang, so he felt free to answer it. What good was being the boss if he couldn't take advantage of the situation every once in awhile? His stomach dropped slightly when he saw that it was Christine Chapel calling. Usually her calls meant that Bones was having a bad day. He answered.

Christine skipped right over any pleasantries. "I think you'd better come to the hospital right now."

Jim looked back to the kitchen where the staff had finished eating their own lunch and were prepping for dinner. "When is Bones off?" Jim asked. "I can get there around 11 or so if he's on the night shift."

Normally that would be good enough for Christine. She had seen McCoy lose patients or be unable to restore a person fully to health before, but never had he been this distraught. This was personal. The only thing that could have thrown him off more was if it had been Joanna.

"I think you should get here as soon as you can. Now, preferably," she said quietly, feeling fatigue begin to creep in. "It was really bad this time. He needs to see you."

Jim swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn't just leave his staff in the weeds for the dinner service, but Christine's voice suggested that this wasn't any ordinary bad day for Bones.

"I'll be there in a few minutes," he told her. Maybe he could get there and back before dinner. He couldn't say no when Bones needed him. The man had always been there for him.

"Thank you."

Jim quickly took off his chef's whites and popped back into the kitchen. "Guys, I'll be back as soon as I can," he told them. When one sous chef looked disgruntled, he looked him in the eye and said, "Family emergency."

If Bones didn't count as family in his life, no one did.

Jim jogged out to his motorcycle. Bones was forever harassing him to get rid of the thing and buy a car like a goddamned adult, but Jim liked his bike. Riding it had always given him a sense of freedom like no other; it had been his salvation back in Iowa. He got on and drove quickly but sensibly to the hospital.

~o~O~o~

"I wouldn't go in there if I were you," Christine told Dr. Pike as he came to a stop outside of Leonard's office. She had kept herself stationed here after calling Jim Kirk.

"What happened? I just heard that he had a moment in the operating room," Pike said.

Christine snorted at the candy-coated phrasing. She could trust Pike; he looked out for Leonard, too. "He freaked out. The victim resembled Jim Kirk, and he lost it for a second. He still did the surgery like a pro, though."

Pike sighed. He couldn't blame Leonard for it - all doctors had moments like that in their lives. He also was the recipient of more than one McCoy rant about Jim Kirk's transportation habits.

"Kirk is on his way?"

"He said he'd be here as soon as he could," Christine reported.

"You want me to take over sentry duty for a while?" Pike asked. The woman looked worried and dead on her feet.

"Would you mind?" Christine asked, shifting from foot to foot. "I really have to pee. I'll go meet Jim downstairs."

With a nod from Pike, she headed toward the elevators. If the bathrooms happened to be right there, too, then perfect. Honestly, people didn't understand the sacrifices that nurses made every day just to do their jobs.

~o~O~o~

Christine nearly hugged Jim Kirk when he hurried through the main entrance of the hospital. "Thank God you're here," she told him, leading him straight away to the elevators.

"Is he okay? What's the matter?" Jim asked, concerned.

Between the emotion and exhaustion, Christine suddenly felt tears pricking at her eyes. She swallowed a lump in her throat.

"We had a motorcycle victim in today. He was dead, so we took his organs for transplant," she said.

Jim was very familiar with Bones' anti-motorcycle stance. But the man had done these surgeries before. "What was different this time?" he asked quietly.

Christine found she couldn't look him in the eye. Fighting back tears, she quietly uttered, "The patient looked a lot like you."

The elevator was silent for a moment as her words sank in. She continued. "The victim was the same age as you, same build, same hair. Leonard started shouting, demanding the victim's name. I thought he was going to collapse when it wasn't you. He made it through, but he's been better."

"I'm glad you called," Jim told her earnestly.

The elevator doors opened on the correct floor. Jim and Christine walked to where Pike still stood outside Leonard's office. "Sir," Jim said, nodding respectively.

Pike nodded back, not wanting to correct Jim on his over-politeness now. Jim reached for the doorknob but Pike stopped him. "Take him home, Jim," he said. "He's not any good to anyone until he gets back into the right mindset."

Jim gave him a curt nod and opened the door.

~o~O~o~

Leonard still sat against the wall, his head resting on his arms. The adrenaline from the surgery had drained away, leaving him utterly shattered. He didn't even hear the door open and close again.

"Bones?"

At the sound of Jim's tentative voice, Leonard's head shot up. "Jim?"

It harkened back to that hotel room in Chicago during Jim's TV tour when their roles had been reversed. Then, it had taken Jim a while to notice that Bones had arrived to harass him into taking better care of himself. But today Jim could tell that reference would be unappreciated. Instead, the chef grinned weakly. "Yup, that's me."

"Oh, thank God," Leonard said, a burst of energy helping him to his feet. He grabbed Jim by the shoulders. "You're really here."

Jim had to admit that he was starting to get a little freaked out by Bones' behavior, but he tried to keep it off of his face. He could feel Leonard shaking through the grip on his shoulders.

"Yeah, Bones. I'm here," he said more gently. He didn't expect Leonard to suddenly throw his arms around him in a hug. Jim immediately stiffened but then forced himself to relax. The doctor didn't notice.

They stood in silence like that for a while. Eventually, though, Jim cleared his throat. They would have to get moving at some point. He might as well start the process now.

"Bones," he said, easily pushing the man a few steps back so that he was sitting on the edge of his desk. "I'll drive you home. Do you think you can hold it together for a few minutes while we walk out to your car?"

Leonard nodded weakly, not looking up at Jim and making no move to leave. Jim grabbed Leonard's coat from a hook by the door and fished his car keys out of a pocket. He handed the jacket to the doctor, then grabbed the cell phone on the desk. When he turned back, Leonard still held the jacket in one hand but otherwise hadn't moved.

"Come on, Bones," Jim said patiently even though he was aware that it was getting closer and closer to dinner service. He took the jacket from his friend's hand and held it up so Leonard could put it on.

Finally sorted, Jim took Leonard by the elbow and led him to the door before stopping. "You ready?" he asked quietly. Leonard closed his eyes and took a deep breath before nodding.

Jim dropped his hand from his friend's arm as he opened the door. Pike and Christine were on the other side of the hallway trying to look inconspicuous. Jim exchanged quick nods with them as Leonard walked out of his office. The doctor kept his eyes down but walked fairly normally at Jim's shoulder as they approached the elevators.

Once in the employee parking lot, Leonard led them to his car and waited patiently by the passenger-side door.

No one said anything during the drive. Jim had to admit that Bones' continued silence was unnerving. Had the man ever gone this long in his life without bitching about something? Finally, Jim pulled into the driveway. He could see that Bones' hands were still shaking, so he took it upon himself to unlock the door and lead Bones into his own home.

Leonard walked into the living room and tossed his jacket on the sofa. He had no idea what he was feeling or what to do, so he was still standing in the middle of the room when Jim returned with a glass of water.

"Here Bones, have some of this," he said, leading Bones to sit on the couch before handing over the glass. The doctor took a couple of sips. Jim hurried back to the kitchen and managed to find a few bits and pieces to throw on a plate. Bones needed to eat. So often emergencies popped up and the doctors and nurses leaped into action for hours without regard to their own needs. Bones probably hadn't had lunch, and he had mentioned more than once that surgery could be extremely draining, both physically and emotionally. Food was the one way that Jim knew how to take care of people.

Setting the plate on the coffee table, Jim knelt down in front of his friend. As much as his heart ached at the thought of leaving in friend in his time of need, he couldn't leave the staff at the restaurant short-handed. "Bones, I have to go back to work, but I promise I'll be back afterward. Are you going to be okay in the meantime?"

Leonard nodded, still looking lost.

"Try to eat something, okay?"

The fact that the man didn't even look like he was thinking snarky thoughts about a professional chef leaving him a measly plate of finger foods and leftovers suggested that his mind was still elsewhere.

Jim stood and move to retrieve his phone from his coat pocket when a hand clamped on to his wrist. He turned back.

Leonard looked panicked. "Wait, you're not going to ride your bike to work, are you?" he asked desperately.

"Bones, it's the only vehicle I own," Jim said patiently. "I'm just going to call for a taxi to take me back to the hospital first."

With a pleading desperation that Jim had never seen aimed at himself before, Leonard stood. "Please, Jim. Take my car. You're coming back anyway. Please."

The doctor certainly was in no shape to drive, so Jim had no problem agreeing. Still, Leonard clung to his arm.

"Please, please, PLEASE don't ride that thing again, EVER," he begged.

Jim was taken aback. No one had ever been this concerned about his personal safety before. No one had ever been this worried about whether he lived or died. Back when he had gotten his first bike, his mother had merely shrugged and told him not to get himself killed in the same tone she used to talk about the weather. She hadn't even looked up from the dinner she was preparing.

Jim swallowed a lump in his throat and looked Leonard in the eyes. "I won't, Bones. I promise."

Jim Kirk had never meant anything as much in his life as he did in that moment.

~o~O~o~

That night, dinner service at Enterprise seemed to go on forever. Luckily, Jim was so good at what he did that he could go through the motions to produce gourmet meals while his mind was back at Bones' house. He actually felt tears pricking at his eyes at one point as he thought about how much Bones cared. Nyota and Spock and the rest of his show's crew had always hassled him about his health and safety, but somehow it meant more because it was Bones. Maybe, he realized, he was finally accepting that someone really _could_ care about him. Wouldn't a therapist have a field day with _that_?

After today, the decision to sell his beloved motorcycle and buy a car had never been easier.

Later that evening, Jim drove back to Bones' house with a big container of chicken noodle soup, made tonight in between plates with yesterday's leftover chicken. He'd never believed the old cliché about chicken noodle soup healing all ills until Bones told him that studies had found that the idea was so culturally ingrained that people really did feel better by eating it. Although he refused to admit it, Jim found the idea wonderfully comforting in a way he never would have considered a few years ago.

The house was dark when Jim pulled into the driveway. He had hightailed it out of the restaurant as soon as service was finished. The staff had been wonderfully accommodating, offering to clean up and do tomorrow's prep without him asking. Gaila had nearly shoved him out the door, telling him, "Jim, go. We'll be okay here. Go take care of Leonard." For some reason, the sentiment had nearly brought tears to his eyes. Maybe he was tired. Or maybe, it was because he so rarely had people to take care of in his life.

"Bones?" Jim called out tentatively. He could see now that there was a lamp on in the living room, but the house was otherwise quiet. Jim tip-toed into the room to find Leonard asleep on the couch, shoes still on, covered by his jacket. The plate of food remained untouched, but there was a bottle of Jack Daniels sitting under the coffee table. Leonard only drank that when he was upset and didn't want to waste the good alcohol.

"Oh, Bones," Jim sighed softly. He went through to the kitchen and dished up a couple of bowls of soup. On his second trip into the living room, he carried a couple of large glasses of water. Bones would probably need it, as well as some Advil for dessert.

"Bones," he said, shaking his friend's shoulder. He couldn't smell alcohol so Bones couldn't have had much to drink, but he also didn't seem to have much in his stomach. Jim shook his shoulder again when his friend only muttered an inaudible reply.

Leonard gasped and sat up suddenly, Jim's quick reflexes the only thing keeping the doctor from head-butting the chef. Leonard sat for a moment rubbing at his eyes and yawning before taking a bleary look around the house. "What time is it?" he croaked.

"Late," Jim said. He pushed one of the bowls toward Leonard. "Here, you need to eat."

Leonard opened his mouth to argue but caught a whiff of the soup. His stomach growled. He wasn't sure when he had last eaten. "Thanks," he mumbled, taking a grudging spoonful.

The soup was delicious – just the right balance of sweet vegetables, perfectly-cooked pasta, and savory herbs. He sighed, as content as he could be for the moment.

"I see you and Jack were hanging out while I was at work," Jim said after a few minutes of eating in companionable silence.

Leonard felt chagrined. He knew he had drunk too much after the divorce, but sometimes alcohol had felt like his only companion in a dark world when he couldn't see Joanna. Since meeting Jim and becoming involved with all of the characters who made up Jim's crew, his world had felt brighter. However, as much as he loved being a doctor, sometimes the injustices of the world led him right back here.

He knew he should answer Jim; that he should justify himself. He knew that if it was anyone else, they would judge him: His mother would sigh, Nyota would shake her head disapprovingly, his ex-wife would have a field day.

But this was Jim he was talking to. If anyone understood and wouldn't judge, it would be his best friend. "Yeah," he said. After a pause, "We just had a little chat, though. I didn't go crazy."

"I figured that since you're still coherent even though it's past your bedtime, old man," Jim said. Leave it to Jim to be a complete jerk at a time like this. Well, two could play at that game.

"Old man, my ass," Leonard said. "If the couch weren't so comfortable right now, I'd teach you to respect your elders, you impetuous brat."

Both men chuckled before a yawn escaped Jim. The food and sleep had helped Leonard feel better, more rational. Seeing Jim sitting in front of him finally put his mind at ease that his friend was alive and well

Leonard found himself yawning in sympathy a moment later. He stretched and sat forward. "Thanks for the soup. As usual, it was delicious." When he saw Jim smile, he added, "Don't let it go to your head, kid."

Jim grinned, glad that his friend was feeling better, but after the display earlier in the day he had trouble imagining that all was right in Bones' world. He felt guilty about having left his friend alone for any amount of time. He wouldn't leave him now.

"Mind if I crash here tonight? It's late and I can't be bothered to go home," Jim said, cringing as he re-evaluated his choice of words.

Thankfully, Leonard didn't seem to notice. "Go for it. You know where everything is," he said, waving an arm at the house in general.

Jim pretended to be put out. "You know, Bones, the level of service around here has really taken a nose-dive."

Leonard snorted and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Princess."

Jim didn't want to leave things this way; he wasn't sure that Bones was truly okay yet. But the hour was late, and exhaustion would do neither of them any good.

Fresh towels from the hall closet deposited on his bed, Jim emerged from the spare room to grab his things from downstairs. His bag felt strangely light when he picked it up.

"BONES!" he shouted up the stairs.

A sweet, "Goodnight, Jim," floated down.

Jim made a show of stomping up to his room and huffing before going inside. In reality, he didn't mind that his cantankerous bastard of a friend had stolen his laptop. It was Bones' way of saying thanks by making sure he would get a good night's sleep instead of staying up half the night to work. Still, he couldn't let Bones know that.

~o~O~o~

Even with a good bowl of soup in his stomach, Leonard found sleep elusive for much of the night. His thoughts were just too tumultuous, repeatedly returning to the body in the morgue and the young man who hadn't made it home tonight. When he finally managed to fall asleep, he was assailed by nightmares. In the one that he could remember, a black body bag was placed on the gurney in front of him. He opened it only to find Jim lying there, pale and unmoving. He had awoken from that dream with a muffled sob. Light was starting to show along the horizon, so he had given up on sleep for the night and stumbled downstairs.

He automatically went through the motions of making coffee, sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands as the water boiled. He was more than tired, he was physically and emotionally wrung-out. His gaze latched onto the bottle of Jack Daniels that was sitting on the counter where it had been left last night.

The kettle clicked off, so Leonard dragged himself up to fill the coffee press. Before he could second-guess himself, the doctor grabbed the liquor bottle and poured a healthy dose into his coffee mug. When he finally added the coffee, there was no mistaking the presence of the whiskey.

Leonard wasn't sure how long he slumped at the kitchen table, sipping laced coffee, too tired to fight the whirling of his mind. All he knew was that it was daylight when he was roused from his stupor by footsteps clomping downstairs. One word that would never describe Jim Kirk was _quiet_.

"Bones?" Jim asked gently, seeing the liquor bottle on the table next to the coffee press. There was no coffee left. "I'd ask how you're doing, but I'm going to guess the answer is 'not well'".

Leonard was finally awake enough to start regretting what he had done. "I'm fine, Jim," he snapped. However, when he stood up from the table, the world tilted.

Instantly Jim was at his elbow, guiding him back down into the chair. "Whoa, there, buddy."

"Sorry, I'm tired," Leonard mumbled, head back in his hands.

"Yeah," Jim said, first eyeing up his friend and then the bottle of Jack Daniels that was much emptier than it had been last night.

A moment later, a large glass of water appeared in front of Leonard. "Sit here and drink that, and I'm going to make breakfast. You need to eat something to soak up the alcohol."

While Leonard sat at the table alternating between sipping water and resting his head in his hands, Jim got to work while keeping a surreptitious eye on his friend. It was clear that the man hadn't gotten much sleep. Hell, Jim hadn't gotten much sleep, either. He'd been awoken by the loud clank of a glass bottle clumsily set down on the oak table. He'd gotten up because he feared finding exactly the scene that now lay before him. Quietly, he grabbed the alcohol from the table and shoved it into a random bottom cabinet.

For once Jim made a simple meal: Just bacon, eggs, and toast. He didn't want to waste time getting some food into his friend. They sat eating in companionable silence, Leonard's eyes glued to his plate as reality set in and he became embarrassed at the state in which Jim had found him.

"I can get that," he told Jim tiredly as the chef cleared away their plates.

However, Jim had other plans. "Bones, go back to bed for a while. I'm getting tired just watching you."

As much as Leonard wanted to argue, sleep sounded really good right now. He couldn't bother climbing the stairs back to his bedroom, so instead he dragged himself over to the couch in the living room and collapsed onto it. He didn't even notice when Jim draped a blanket over him a few minutes later.

~o~O~o~

Jim sighed as he eased himself back into his chair at the kitchen table. He had just finished cleaning up the kitchen and now had to decide what to do about Bones and the chaos his life had descended into in the past few hours.

Deciding he needed more coffee, Jim got back up to prepare it. While waiting for the water to boil, Jim pottered around the kitchen. Then he remembered the bottle he had hidden away earlier. After opening up a couple of cupboards, he finally found the Jack Daniels shoved in with the baking supplies.

Jim pulled it out and stood contemplating the bottle in his hand. While he was no saint in the alcohol department himself, he had to admit that he was a bit shocked when he came downstairs and saw the state of his friend this morning. In his current mood, he wasn't sure whether Bones would get mad at him for dumping out the bottle or thank him for saving him from himself.

Sure, he and Bones both had their sob stories and had consumed more than their share of booze over the years. Neither could pretend otherwise. But from talking to Mrs. McCoy when they had recently visited Georgia after Jim's TV tour, things had been bad for Bones in the time between his divorce and meeting Jim. A doctor could have a lot to lose.

Decision made, Jim popped open the bottle and watched the amber liquid flow down the drain. At least it wasn't single malt Scotch.

~o~O~o~

Jim had showered, retrieved his laptop from Bones' room, and settled in at the kitchen table to work. Eventually, though, he felt his eyes drooping. Grabbing water for both himself and Bones, he claimed the recliner across from the couch and was soon taking a nap of his own.

Some time later he was awoken by grumbling as the good doctor nearly fell off the couch. Jim tried not to laugh as he watched Bones try to extricate himself from the tangled blanket without rolling off.

"Not funny," Bones muttered as he finally managed to kick his feet free, which of course forced Jim to break into all-out laughter.

"The great Doctor Bones, defeated by a maroon throw," Jim said, doubling over in laughter. Not even receiving a direct hit to the head by said maroon throw a moment later dampened his spirits.

He finally managed to untangle himself in time to see Leonard drain most of the glass of water and scrub a hand over his face. However, his hand couldn't hide the smile playing at his lips. Suddenly, Jim felt lighter. They still had a ways to go until life was back to normal, but he knew for certain that things would be okay.

~o~O~o~

A FEW DAYS LATER

The past few days had been a challenge at times. Leonard had been surprisingly forgiving about Jim dumping the Jack Daniels down the drain – at least it hadn't been the good stuff. Sleep had been difficult, so Jim had stayed over in the guest room for moral support (and super-secret supervision). Two days later, Leonard had returned to work. Jim had contracted Scotty to come by the hospital parking lot with a trailer so he could haul Jim's motorcycle to the dealership. Jim had been true to his word and hadn't ridden the bike again since driving Bones home from the hospital. Jim had swallowed a lump in his throat as he had run his hand along the bike's beautiful lines one last time. That gesture hadn't gone unnoticed by Leonard, who felt a pang of guilt for demanding this of Jim. But not too guilty, because it meant Jim would be much safer on the streets.

"Come on, Jim, get it! Be in touch with your feminine side! Chicks dig a guy with the confidence to drive a pink car."

For the umpteenth time that day, Leonard wondered whose great idea it had been to invite Gaila to go car shopping with them. He had never quite figured out the nature of the relationship between Jim and his restaurant manager, and by now he was too afraid to ask: he wouldn't put it past either of them to give him a very, very explicit answer.

Now, the trio stood in front of a Nissan Cube painted a hideous shade of pink that Leonard immediately associated with Joanna's Barbie doll collection. "Well," he said reluctantly, "it does have good crash test ratings."

Jim growled at the back of his throat at Leonard's comment. "Bones, you're making this boring. Gaila, I am not driving that … thing."

Just then, something beautiful and bright red caught his eye. Pushing the other two aside, he made a beeline for the far side of the lot.

"Really, Jim?" Leonard said as he watched the blonde caress the lines of a Chevy Camaro.

"Bones, it's a classic. It's beautiful, and it's a convertible. It'll be almost as good as riding my bike, but safer," the chef pointed out.

Gaila jumped up and down. "I like it! Will you give me rides to work?"

Leonard examined the specs posted in the window. "It's got decent safety ratings," he admitted. "The mileage isn't bad for what it is. But it's rear-wheel drive – not much good on snow or ice."

Jim snorted. "Come on, Bones. When was the last time we had much snow or ice around here? It can't be any worse than being on a bike."

Leonard McCoy was a smart man and knew when to pick his battles, a skill learned from years of a tumultuous marriage. "Fine!" he said, throwing up his hands. "Let's take it for a drive."

After a test drive that even Leonard enjoyed, Jim and Leonard stood examining the car, metaphorically kicking the tires, while Gaila flirted with the salesman near the entrance of the dealership.

"What do you think, Bones?" Jim asked quietly, more serious than usual.

Leonard looked over the lines of the car. It was safe and vaguely economical, yet it would let Jim have some fun without the danger of the bike. He realized he was in no place to demand that Jim change his ways, but his friend cared enough to give up his beloved motorcycle for Leonard's peace of mind.

The doctor shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, what's the point of being successful if you can't enjoy it every once in a while?" The kid worked hard but rarely spent money on himself. Leonard certainly couldn't begrudge him this.

"Excellent," Jim said, rubbing his hands together. Then his grin took on an evil look (in Leonard's opinion).

"From now on, I'll do the driving. Bones, buckle up."

Leonard sighed and resigned himself to his fate. "God help us all." Then more quietly, he murmured, "Thanks, Jim." The chef smiled in return, then walked toward the dealership building to buy his car.

FIN.


End file.
